A Letter to Harry Potter
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: "Christmas has come and gone once again, my love. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. No, it wasn't this. Christmas at my Auntie Muriel's-Christmas without you? I never would have dreamt of such a thing. Yet, here I sit, in my cold room, writing to you."


A Letter to Harry Potter:

December 26th, 1997

Dear Harry,

Christmas has come and gone once again, my love. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. No, it wasn't this. Christmas at my Auntie Muriel's-Christmas without you? I never would have dreamt of such a thing. Yet, here I sit, in my cold room, writing to you. My fingers are cracking with frost and the fireplace has icicles dangling off of it. (Auntie Muriel can't feel the cold, anymore, apparently. Really, I think she just likes to make the rest of us suffer.) Fred and George are on the landing outside right now, discussing whether anyone would notice if we torched Auntie Muriel's wig. Somehow, I don't doubt they'd do it in a heartbeat, given the chance.

I haven't seen you since the wedding in August. Four months, nearly five. Merlin, it seems like a life time since we talked. I've got a picture of you under my pillow, and I look at it every night, because I'm afraid of forgetting what you look like. A few years ago, I would have been embarrassed to admit such a thing even in a letter. Now, I don't care. I love you, Harry. I miss you. And, though I will absolutely _never _admit this to anyone-I need you. Really and truly need you. (Why didn't you take me with you? I could have helped.)

I used to play a game when I was a younger girl, where I would dress up in the curtains from my room and pretend I was marrying you. Sometimes Ron, or Fred, or George would play along as minister or even as you. Often, though, I played by myself, representing the mysterious Harry Potter as a doll or my pillow. Every time, we'd confess our love and have a wonderful dance in the back garden. And, it stings just a little bit to realise-we have never actually danced before. You and I-we've never danced or spent the night under the stars or even a night snogging in a broom closet. All these things that I thought were just a _part _of being in a relationship, and we haven't done any of them.

But that's okay. We don't have to live out a faery-tale I've held onto since I was six; after all, that's why they call them faery-tales, right? (Merlin, I'm glad I'm not really sending this letter off to wherever you are. I'd be embarrassed.) I think…the time we _did _have together was good enough to trump any childhood fantasy; at least this time, you were actually real, and not just my pillow. At least I actually got to meet you, and know you as a real person. You know, as the sodding git you truly are.

I was scared of you, the first time I ever truly met you. Remember? I put my elbow in the butter at breakfast-but you were the only one who seemed to notice, and you even laughed in that not-really-mocking way; like, it was funny to you, but not because I had buttery elbows, but because no one seemed to notice I had buttery elbows. (I always looked for reasons to make you laugh, after that.) When I was dating Michael, he never laughed at anything-he was too serious, like Percy. Too morbid. I could never get Michael to laugh. But you? You were easy; you liked to laugh at everything, like you didn't hear enough laughter at home. Like, all you really wanted was to fill the entire world with laughter.

Sometimes, you were too serious, though, sort of like Michael. You'd get moody and distant, and you didn't want to talk to anyone; those were the times Hermione and I made you talk the most. Those were the times I tried to make you laugh as hard as you could. We didn't like seeing you sad, because it made _us _sad. It made _me _sad. It was as if someone had taken away the Harry I knew, the joking Harry that came up with wild schemes, and instead replaced him with some melancholy version of himself. It was scary, seeing you like that. And I know you tried to hide those days when you just couldn't seem to smile, but I _know _you, Harry, and you were just so…_sad_. It hurt to even watch. I know it hurt you even worse.

I know you're coming back, Harry. I know you're going to be back soon, and everything will start being the way it once was. It will be normal, and you'll finally stop having some reason to hurt, inside. You're going to come back, and you're going to help save us all. But you won't do it alone; I won't let that happen. You want to do these things by yourself, to keep everyone else from getting hurt, but that won't happen this time-we're going to help you, even if you don't want us to. You're going to have help, dammit, even if you don't even know we're there.

You're not alone, Harry. You were never alone-we were always there, you just have to come look for us. So, Happy Christmas, wherever you are, and I hope someone's there to remind you that you're never, _ever _alone.

Love,

Ginny


End file.
